Broken Bird
by liliaeth
Summary: Angie thought she hated immortals, then she finds out an old friends of hers is one of them


# 

# **__****Broken Bird**

Title: Broken Bird (1/2)  
Author: Lore  
Rated: PG-13  
Characters: Richie Ryan, Angie Burke  
Premise: In a world where immortals are seen as second class citizens  
a Sniffer called Richie meets an old childhood friend from days long  
past and changes her view on the world forever.  
Disclaimer: don't own, please don't sue  
E-mail:lilith93@h...  
Archive: Seventh Dimension.  
Notes: This is a prequel to my story 'Trust', you can find it on my  
site at http://members.nbci.com/liliaeth

I wake up with butterflies in my stomach. Mike's spread out next to  
me. The alarm has stopped sounding already and I nestle myself in his  
embrace. It's five a clock and he's still here. I smile at that.  
His body feels so firm against mine, he's warm.  
"I have to leave." he whispers in my ear. I can hear the regret in his  
words. But we both know he has to leave for work.

My eyes follow him as he leaves the bed to dress himself. I pull the  
extra blanket over me as well and look at his but as he enters the  
bathroom. His muscles reflected in the early rays of light.  
My beautiful Hunter. He kisses me good morning, wishes me a happy  
valentine and heads downstairs. I fall back asleep. Leaving him to his  
job, to hunt down those damn Immies. I hope he's safe.

  
*******

I shiver as I wake, fearful to leave my dreams. Unwilling to open my  
eyes and look around. The hairs on my hands are standing up, the cold  
brush of the wind raising them. It is cold, even with the thin blanket  
tightly pulled around of me. It barely helps to keep the cold at bay,  
it's fabric to thin to warm me up.  
It's better than nothing though.

I open my eyes. The others are still sleeping. Their low breathing  
sounds like a constant in the room. I look at the row of beds across  
of my own and at the white wall behind them. There are some posters on  
the walls.  
"Work is it's own reward." one of them says. Nice idea, especially  
since the only rewards we're given are the kind I'd rather refuse. I  
stare at the picture of lightening next to it. The text underneath  
says 'Death for death'.  
It's meaning is all too clear. One of the other posters has a picture  
of a man wearing the uniform of an immortal. There's a lot of text  
next to it. How to recognize an immortal, the big text says. None of  
the descriptions are all that flattering.

I stop looking at them. I know why they're here. They want to make us  
look inhuman, they're not really failing. I pull my legs closer to my  
body, trying to stay warm and look at the others, my fellow Sniffers.  
Each and everyone of them an immortal. Most of our own kind would  
think us traitors. Immortals helping the Hunters find others of our  
kind. But what was I supposed to do?  
It would be easier in a way if this was about life or death.  
I don't think I'd miss my life all that much right now.  
Losing my head ... it seems like a relief somehow. Being rid of it,  
free of them and their slavery.

I take a deep gulp of air and get out of the bed, twisting my blanket  
around me to give me at least some cover. I look up at the barred  
window at the top. It's open, yet there's no hope for us to get away  
through it. It's too high and the bars in front of it are for more  
than just decoration. I can see the sun rising in the air. The sky is  
blue. It's slightly beyond dawn and I just stand there. The rays of  
light touch my pale naked skin. I was wearing little more than a pair  
of shorts that barely hid my dignity.

The Hunters aren't in the hall yet. I wonder what's keeping them. Is  
it some kind of holiday again? I have no idea of either the day or the  
date. Hell I wonder what year it is? Nobody ever tells us. Not that  
it matters. We're slaves, property of the state, to do with whatever  
they please.

  
*********

When I come down Allison is already sitting there. Her sandwich spread  
out in front of her. She's 16, she doesn't need her old mom to do  
those kind of things for her. I notice a message on the fridge and  
read it over. A smile comes on my face. He's going to try and come  
later in the morning.

I whistle on my way to work. It's a beautiful day, not a cloud in the  
sky. No huge traffic jams, the commercials over the interway weren't  
to flashy and I read them over as I follow the road.  
Birthcontroll products. Pregnancy tests to check if the child had a  
chance to turn immortal or not. I smile, knowing how ridiculous that  
is. Noone knows how to check an immortal before first death. Don't  
they think the Hunters work would be a lot easier if immortals could  
be found before they became a threat.

The only way to find an immortal before first death is by using  
another immortal, a Sniffer. And use of that is mostly prohibited  
without official authorisation.

*********

I glance up when the alarms starts ringing in the new day. I don't  
move, forcing the others to walk around me as they get out of their  
own cots. I notice the tattoos on their bodies, only slightly  
different from my own. We all have at least five sets of numbers on  
us. Each time I see them I'm reminded once again what we are. Things,  
to be used and discarded at the masters discretion. I inch my head,  
feeling the sharp bite of the metal collar around my neck. It hurts,  
griping into the soft flesh underneath, tentacling it's way underneath  
the skin.

I make my bed and sit down on it. The keepers come in and I don't  
really care. At least it means I'll get something to wear. The stack  
is big as ever and I search for a uniform, hoping to find one that  
fits. I had a good one yesterday. It didn't itch so much, but the  
chances of finding the same one again are small.  
The one I finally manage to get my hands on is rough. I pull the pants  
on and I end having to turn up the legs because they're to long. I  
notice a hole in the shirt, but it's to late now to switch. I can  
hardly cause a fight with one of the others over something stupid like  
that. It's white color contrasts sharp with the deep blue of the  
rest of the uniform. I see the huge I taped on the front of the shirt  
and know there's a bigger one on the back as well.

Keeper Reynolds comes up to me and I lower my head to let him put the  
leash on to my collar. It's time to go to work. My stomach is  
grumbling but I resist its signs.  
He attaches the leash to a ring in the van. I kneel down and try to  
hold on as best as possible. It's not the best position I've ever  
managed but the leash is bound to tight and if I try and sit lower I  
could choke myself. Not exactly my idea of a good time.

One of the Hunters is showing a watch to his neigbour. I don't know  
either of the men, nor would they want to know me. Only the Keepers  
have anything to do with us Immies. The others are too disgusted to  
pay us much mind. I try and avoid overhearing to much of their  
conversation. I still catch key words like Valentine and a reception.  
Yet another holiday, all it had to do with me, was either the good or  
bad mood that the Hunters had. If they were happy over the holidays or  
angry cause they couldn't be at home with their families. What was  
this one about anyway. All I noticed is that there were a lot of  
heartsymbols in the Hunters cafetaria.

The men were all in a good mood so that was a relief. The  
Keeper glanced at me and I quickly turn down my eyes. Ignoring  
everything around me. No need to ask for a beating. It's good I'm  
holding in cause the van stops suddenly without a single warning. I've  
learned by now and refuse to be taken by surprise. Keeper Reynolds  
unlocks my leash and pulls me along out of the van. I struggle to get  
my feet under me and follow him.

The Keeper doesn't say a word. I stay still, and try to concentrate,  
to see if I'd just missed something. Nopes, as far as my senses could  
say, there was no other immortal around. What were they doing here?  
One of the Hunters turned to me.  
"Can't we just leave him in the van."  
The Keeper just smirked.  
"Are you crazy, we could get in enough trouble as it is without  
leaving an Immie unguarded like that. Or are you volunteering to stay  
with him?"  
They all laughed at that idea and the Hunter stopped complaining.

I'm pulled inside and I can't help looking around. Everything seemed  
so cheerful. So alive. Everywhere there where people smiling and  
several of the Hunters went up to some of the women, pulling them into  
close embraces. It was clear this wasn't anything official.

  
******

Mike and his friends come in as the reception has already been  
underway for a couple of hours. I smile at the idea of my parents'  
reaction to the rise of Valentines Day. It had never been celebrated  
as big as since the Discovery.  
Celebrating the birth of someone who came back from the death just  
didn't seem so attractive anymore.

I pull Mike into a deep kiss. A loud choir of whistling accompanies  
us. It was then that I notice the Sniffer. He seems so small somehow.  
Was that an immortal? It was almost a disappointment. Immortals were  
supposed to be crazy insane monstrous beings, not fragile terrified  
kids like this one.

Lewis orders him in a corner and locks the leash of his collar to a  
bar on the wall. I look away from him and turn my eyes to the punch  
bowl. Mike seemed somewhat embarrassed to have brought the freak  
along. But I understand they didn't really get permission to come out  
here.

******

Keeper Reynolds pushes me in the corner. There's a thick copper bar on  
the wall and he attaches the heavy leash on to it. I sit down in the  
corner with barely enough place not to choke. The Keeper checks the  
leash one more time, pulls it out a bit longer, so I can keep my head  
down and leaves me alone.  
I wanted to thank him for that one, but kept silent. Talking out of  
turn was never a good idea.  
It made them think you thought you were more than you were. That you  
considered yourself a human being, one of the worst offences possible,  
to pretend humanity.

I could hear the noise around of me increase. There was music in the  
background and I tried to ignore it. Maybe if I could doze of a bit,  
catch some more sleep, ...  
No to high a risk if they found out. I start concentrating on the  
rules book. At least it gave me something to do.  
Rule 1: All mortals have to be treated with the due respect. Refusal  
to do so can be followed by extreme measures of punishment.

I'd gotten to about rule Nr 87 when a woman comes up to me. I can  
feel her eyes piercing through my head. "So that thing's one of them?"  
I don't hear a response so I presume that the Hunter next to her just  
nods.  
"He looks so human."

I try and hide in the corner I'm in, to let the shadows take me in,  
but the mortals start circling around me and I'm trapped with my back  
to the wall. I screech softly as one of the Hunters pulls up my face,  
showing it to the light.  
I can't help trembling when I see the look on their faces, Glee, mixed  
with horror and the strange fascination people usually reserve for  
freakshows and car accidents.  
I must be truly disgusting to them.  
Their faces remind me of all too many others, starting with the  
mortals that first killed me in public after finding out what I was,  
up to the guards in the center to that on any Hunter, civilian or  
other that looks at me.

There is no way out. They can do whatever they want. I hope it will be  
over soon.

********

I scowl at the way Lewis is trying to impress the rest of the women.  
Showing of his little Sniffer, his power over the thing. We all gather  
around the freak and he's shaking heavily. Am I the only one who wants  
them to stop? Even immortals should be left some shreds of dignity.  
But the others don't seem to think so, they revel in his fear. I  
should stop them, but a part of me keeps telling me not to. That he  
deserves this for being what he is. He isn't human, he isn't an  
animal, that's nothing but a re-animated corpse with merely a sparse  
set of primal emotions left over. That's why he seems so scared. It's  
just an animal. Less than that. Then Clarice lifts his head and I  
recognize that face. Most of all I recognize his eyes and I  
practically choke.  
Richie.

Lewis grins, unbinds the leash and tells the Sniffer to get up. The  
kid obeys almost instantly. I should be laughing here, like the  
others. It really is a funny sight the way  
Lewis makes the Immie dance. But all I can see was a kid, Richie,  
being humiliated. They started pushing him, turning him around and  
around. Over and over again.  
He seems to gain more and more difficulty staying up under their  
assaults. And when he finally goes down they all break out in loud  
laughter. I can barely believe them.

Maybe it's the fact that he's not just an unnamed face to me. That I  
know him. But I can't find humor in what's happening. I remember the  
both of us as kids. Richie on the first day of school, saying he was  
going to be something important someday. He didn't know what yet. But  
it would be important. Somehow I believed him then. I smile at the  
idea of the two of us running out on the streets, constantly in  
trouble.  
Richie had been my first valentine when no boy asked me out yet. I'd  
kissed him and we'd both said "yuck" as loud as we could. What did we  
know, we were only eight at the time.

He was my best friend, the guy that climbed in the tree for me to get  
my ball out of it and then got stuck and scratched himself while  
trying to get out. I didn't dare call for help and he ended up falling  
in the mud. His foster mother of the week was raging at the state of  
his clothes.

And now here he was, performing tricks like a circus dog, with a crowd  
laughing loudly when his Keeper trips him up. I can't help but be  
overcome with shame for us all.

*******

I try and get up, they push me on my knees. One of them grabs a  
plastic cup and comes back only moments later. The Keeper grabs my  
mouth and makes me open it. I do so. The warm fluid courses through my  
throat with little or no warning. I'm lucky I'm immortal or that would  
have burned.

There's a kick in the drink, I nearly vomit it out but force myself to  
keep it in. I've had worse. One of the Hunters gives me a tray and  
tells me to keep it for them, like a living statue, one drip and I'd  
get punished. I know they'd do it. My arm hurts after a while and the  
Keeper finally takes the tray and puts it elsewhere. He ties me  
up again and I'm grateful for that. My eyes don't leave their backs as  
they leave the room.  
I welcome the darkness they leave behind.

*******

I go back to the diner room and see him still sitting there. He's all  
alone, a shadow in the darkness. I can't see his head as he seems to  
be hiding it between his legs. I turn on the lights and notice our  
reflection on the mirror behind him. His ever-youthful face contrasts  
weirdly with my own. I seem so old when I look at him, he looks as  
young as I remember him from the last time I saw him. He'd seemed so  
happy then. It had been just before her death. What was her name, that  
woman that lived with him and that man that had taken him in. He'd  
called me a few days earlier to tell me that the man and woman were  
getting married and then it was as if he disappeared in thin air. The  
last thing I heard from him was that he'd won some motor race.  
He never came back.

Over 25 years. Even before the Discovery, before Kristine Salzer told  
the ugly truth about Immortals and their Watchers. He seems so young,  
still, he always will, from the looks of it, he'd never grown out of  
his teens.  
It was strange to see my reflection next to his. Like two snapshots  
out of time, but pasted together as through some kind of  
paint-program.

He was munching on that foodbar that Lewis had left him with. The way  
he's holding it, he seems scared that someone is going to take it away  
from him. There are only a few crumbs left, but he's still hungry. I  
can see why. His clothes hang loosely on his body. He seems so thin,  
as if he's starving. Was that bar all he'd gotten?  
Why did I ever agree with Mike when he said Immies were being spoiled.  
I didn't even have a clue about them. I must admit I never really  
cared either.

I take a piece of cake from the table. It's left over from the party.  
The others would probably have thrown it to the dog, none of them even  
consider giving it to the Immie. Immies could go without. It's not  
like they needed food.

I'm not sure what to say to him. He tries to pull back in his corner  
when I approach him. He doesn't even look up at me. His entire body is  
shaking. I start thinking of a beaten dog I once bought in a pound,  
Fifteen years ago. Fletcher had been terrified of the slightest touch.  
To afraid to even touch his food with anyone around. Scared to death  
that someone else had more right to it than he had. I remember him  
shriveling up in a ball whenever anyone came near.  
Richie's a lot like that dog now.

I do the only thing I can think of and put the plate down next to him.  
I turn my back to him and go get him a fork, when I turn around he's  
already eating. The cake's in his hand and he seems to be trying to  
push it all in his mouth at the same time. I can't help a chuckle from  
building up inside of me.  
He startles and almost coughsup the food again.

"Still the same old Richie." I say, I know my words are wrong before  
I'm even finished saying them. He's far from being the same Richie  
that I used to know as a kid.  
The old Richie for one thing would never have been this afraid of me  
and he would have protested instead of allowing himself to be  
humiliated like the others had done earlier.

"You don't remember me do you?  
He looks up at me for the first time since I've come in and a spark of  
recognition fills his eyes.  
"Angie?" At least he remembers my name.  
"Yeah." I sigh wearily. "Old and gray, but still me."

I get closer to him and sit down on a low chair I place in front of  
him. He pulls in some more, his knees touching his chin.  
"I'm not gonna hurt you, promise."  
I softly touch his face. I can't help but notice the hard metal collar  
around his neck. It seemed way too tight and definitely not  
comfortable. The media, the hunters, all of them, they usually avoided  
talking about the collars. I knew they were used to control the  
immortals. The explosives inside of them were supposed to take their  
heads of if they tried anything. What the press never said was that  
they cut into their wearers neck, leaving small bloody streaks along  
the neckline, streaks that healed but still ...  
He may not be human, but this ... this is plainly going to far. The  
sound of the laughter next door seems hollower than ever.

********

She seems so old. Angie was supposed to be the young girl that I  
remember from my dreams. The ones that keep me warm at night. How I  
tried to impress her with my cunning and then she'd one up me with her  
own.  
She was still beautiful even with a few streaks of grey in her hair.  
It almost seemed mortals were taking pride in their aging. As if it  
were some kind of proof of their mortality.

I don't know what to say to her. She's a part of my old life. The life  
I had before ... before dying, before immortality, before the  
Discovery.

"God Richie..." she hugs me, I let her. The idea of her touch, her  
mortal hands on me. It's frightening but I let her. She's a mortal, I  
can't disrespect her. I can't refuse her. She's my better. I gulp  
slightly at the thought of what had already happened, what would  
probably happen again. Just thinking of it makes me shiver.

I can't believe she's here, talking to me, after seeing, after knowing  
what I am. Willing to accept even the freak that I've become.

She finally lets go and I pull back. Trying to limit the space I'm  
taking in. She kneels down right next to me.  
"This is weird." she finally says. I don't respond. "You know that  
don't you." I just nod. The weird thing was that she was actually  
talking to me as if I was a person.  
I'm not, the doctors and the hunters have made that clear over and  
over again.

She keeps talking to me, I answer in short abbreviated words. Afraid  
to talk. My voice sounds hoarse through lack of use. She asks me how I  
ended up as a Sniffer.  
I'm not sure what to answer. It's not like I really had a choice, as  
if I even wanted the job. But Immies have no free will, we do as we're  
told. The alternative is too painful to consider.

I want to tell her something, anything, then I see the Hunter at the  
door and I shut down completely.  
The man came up to Angie and kissed her on the cheek.  
"I wondered where you'd gone." he says.  
"Oh Richie and I were just talking." Doesn't she understand. Immortals  
didn't have names. We definitely aren't supposed to use them. The only  
names we have are the nicknames our Keepers give us to keep us apart.  
"We know eachother from when we were kids." Angie says, saving my skin  
with her words. "We come from the same neighborhood." The look on his  
face calms down a bit. Something else replaces it though.  
"Before he died you mean."

Before I died, before I lost all my rights, before I lost my humanity.  
He implies it all and I make sure not to even come close to touching  
either of them.

*******

'Before he died.' It was weird thinking of Richie in those terms,  
before or after death.  
I know what Mike was getting at with stating it like that. The common  
idea was that immortals were nothing more than re-animated corpses,  
they may have retained the memories, the looks, but generally they  
weren't considered to be the same person. There was a reason immortals  
lost all rights after death. You could hardly give rights to a corpse.  
Even if it did still walk around.

I've believed that reasoning for close to 25 years. I believed that  
what the Hunters did was necessary for the sake of humanity, that we  
had to protect ourselves from those inhuman monsters. Looking at  
Richie though made it hard to keep believing. He definitely didn't  
look like a corpse, he didn't smell like one either. He was real.  
A real life person, different definitely, broken maybe, but still very  
much himself.

I look at Mike, at the look in his eye. He wants me to share his  
revulsion. I can't, the only one repulsing me is him. For what he and  
his kind had done to Richie. And for myself, for accepting all this  
for way to long.  
I throw the immortal that used to be my friend a last glance before I  
start heading outside. Mike stays back in the other room. I wonder  
what he's doing and stay in the dooropening, just out of sight.

I turn back just in time to see Mike kick Richie in the gut. It isn't  
the first one either, Richie was already on the ground.  
"You don't talk to your betters Red. Do you hear me. If I catch you …"  
I don't really catch the rest of his words, but I see him pull up  
Richies head and can hear the sound of something breaking as his knee  
hits Richies face.  
"Now answer me. Are you ever planning to talk to her again?"  
Richie mutters something, it's unintelligible.  
"Talk you stupid dog."  
"No master. I'll be good. Please master, I promise."  
His begging makes me feel even worse. If I hadn't introduced him as an  
old friend, Mike wouldn't have been so angry with him and he wouldn't  
be suffering.

I want to come out of the shadows and stop him but I can't bring  
myself to do so, terrified of what Mike would do to Richie if I did. I  
can only make things worse that way. Mike lets go of Richies hair and  
the boys head hits the ground  
I can see blood on the ground next to him. Mike kneels down slightly,  
his fingers move through Richies hair. Petting him like a dog.

As he gets up he kicks Richie once more and turns my way. I plan to  
leave but just as I do he turns back one last time. "I'm going to  
release you for a second now.  
As soon as you're healed you're going to get up and clean your mess.  
If I don't find you and that floor cleaned up, …" The threat is merely  
implied but I can see that it's serious and so does Richie.

I leave up to the others. Ashamed of my own inaction. Mike is called  
only moments later. His boss wants him at the vidcom. Mike pretends to  
be terrified at being found out. But they all know that their boss  
will be all to understanding about it. Everyone wants to be with his  
or her loved ones on Valentine's day.

I pretend to go to the toilet and look around, making sure that no one  
sees where I'm going.  
Richie is on the floor. His face is still bloody, but he's wringing  
out a rag, trying to clean the blood out of the rug. I wince at seeing  
him like that. It's clear he hasn't yet recovered from his wounds. He  
should be resting to recover, but he's probably to scared of what the  
Hunters would do to him if they found out he disobeyed a  
direct order.

I want to help him, but I have no idea how to do it without making  
things even worse. For a moment I consider telling him to escape. To  
make a run for it, but then I realize what I'd be asking of him.  
Escape attempts are considered capital offenses. Even if they didn't  
kill him, any disciplinary measure put on him would be worse than just  
severe.  
Besides, where would he run to? Who would help him?

There is little I can do and we both know it. Soon Mike would be back  
to check up on Richie and chances were Richie was going to be punished  
anyway, for no other reason than not being fast enough in doing as he  
was told. No matter the fact that it wasn't even his fault.

I join him in the room, take an extra rag and help him clean up his  
blood. Then I take some napkins and clean up his face. It smoothens so  
easily, the wounds heal before my eyes and I marvel at the sight. He  
really is immortal and he's still Richie.  
I turn to him before leaving him. I put my hand on his shoulder and  
lift his chin, making him look at me.  
"Whatever they tell you Rich, you're still human. Don't ever let them  
tell you otherwise." I hug him one last time and leave him alone. No  
need to endanger him any further.

As I move on I consider what I can do to change things. I'm just one  
person, but there has to be something that I can do. This has gone way  
too far.

  
*** Three weeks later ***

I'm sitting at my office and Stacy comes running in. She turns on the  
television. There's a hostage situation at a church. They've got news  
coverage inside.  
I look at it and my mouth falls open in surprise as I see Richie with  
a gun in his hands. It looks so unlike him. He's still trembling,  
still unsure of himself. I feel like hugging him. He starts talking,  
telling about the centers, about what's happening to immortals all  
over the world and I notice the change that starts setting through the  
others. The same it had done for me. Immortals no longer were inhuman  
monsters, they had a face. A hurt face that told tales of rape, abuse,  
murder, …

My heart breaks for him and so do those of the others. The ones that  
had all too happily humiliated him only weeks earlier. They hadn't  
given a damn about him then, but now… I touch my ring slightly,  
revealing the letters IFF tattooed underneath. The sign of my  
determination to stop the insanity we've tolerated for way to long.

They all watch as Richie willingly risks his own head to save the life  
of a mortal, how he's more willing to protect the children than any of  
the Hunters attacking them.

And they see him with his friends.

I know then and there that things can only look up.


End file.
